


Starfucker Base

by Eralk Fang (EralkFang), llyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Denial, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Pornography, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EralkFang/pseuds/Eralk%20Fang, https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/llyn
Summary: When Hux discovers Ren's unhealthy obsession with the redheaded star of a popular spunkvid, he vows to break the siren's hold over his co-commander before it spells certain doom for the First Order.





	

**Author's Note:**

> llyn’s Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone who supported and encouraged us while writing this fic <3
> 
> Eralk’s Author’s Note: With apologies to Jake Bass, whose website I borrowed heavily from for Huxxx's. Spot the references and win Internet Bucks™️: an old-timey fandom thing, Ex Machina, The Producers, and Jem and the Holograms. (What are Internet Bucks™️ good for? That’s a really good question…)

“Where is Ren?” Hux asks, cutting Unamo off mid-sentence. Her mouth hangs open on the next word in her report for a long moment before snapping shut. “It’s a quarter after sixteen hundred,” he says, by way of apology.

“In his quarters, sir,” Mitaka says softly, with the well-abused look Hux has come to associate with direct contact with Ren.

“He should be here.”

“He left explicit instructions not to be disturbed, sir,” Mitaka says, then swallows, “Very explicit.”

“Explicit?” Hux asks, “Very explicit?”

“I believe,” Mitaka says, “That is to say he told me—I mean, he said, um—”

“Yes?”

“He’s having a wank, sir,” Mitaka says, and then, pushing on bravely through the muffled sounds of shock in the room, “He said if anyone disturbed him he would hold me personally responsible and that he would—he—I can’t repeat it, sir.”

“What?”

“What he said he would do to me, sir.”

“No, I mean what did he say he would do to you, lieutenant.”

“I can’t repeat it,” Mitaka says.

“Yes,” Hux says, “That’s why I’m ordering you to repeat it.”

“Could I—“ Mitaka says, fingers clenched white around the edge of the table, eyes darting around the gathered senior officers, “Could we—”

“Leave us,” Hux says, keeping his glare leveled at Mitaka as the other officers file out in an especially professional silence he knows will erupt into wild, rampant speculation the moment they’re around the corner. When the door closes snugly behind the last of them, he leans forward, “Now, then. What did Ren say to you, exactly?”

Mitaka seems no less comforted to be alone with the general then he was with his peers, but nods his head once, accepting his fate, and begins, wringing his hands in his lap as he speaks, “I came to summon him in person, as you requested, but when he opened the door he was in his pajamas.”

“In his pajamas?” Hux repeats, failing to keep the wonder out of his voice.

“Yes, shirtless and in his pajamas. He looked sleepy, sir. And when I informed him it was time for the meeting he told me he’d just woke up after a wank and was about to have another, and if anyone tried to disturb him he would find me after and come on my face. He implied I would like it and told me he would deliver me to you afterwards, to embarrass me further and because he thought that you would like it, too. Then he asked me if I thought you were like that, and that you were obviously a—obviously attracted to men but if I thought you were a freak, sorry, sir. That awful holovid was playing the entire time rather loudly in the background, and I’m afraid I became overwhelmed and abandoned the mission. I am sorry, sir.”

Hux counts to ten, nails digging into his palms, until he can grit out, “What holovid?”

“Starfucker Base, sir,” Mitaka says, then winces, “Sorry.”

“Star—” Hux says, then shuts his mouth, resisting the urge to scream. Ren’s unique talent for finding the very worst thing to do at any given moment is infuriating beyond human expression, if, at least, consistent. He stands abruptly with a great screech of his chair, and Mitaka leaps to his feet, startled. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Hux says, “This has been very informative. You’re dismissed.” Mitaka’s mouth opens and shuts, his protest swallowed, and with a salute he leaves Hux to his fury.

  


“Do you need something from me, General?”

“No, Lord Ten Inches, but I believe you need something from me.”

“From you? What could _you_ give _me_?”

“Something you’re desperate for, my lord: the tightest ass in the galaxy.”

“ _Blech_ ,” Hux stops the holovid there, feeling dirty. He stands up and paces half the room before rushing back to his seat to turn it on again. The holovid’s star, a lanky ginger twink named General Huxxx, falls to his knees before Lord Ten Inches, and it’s no wonder at all why Ren is a fan of this particular holovid as the part of Lord Ten has been cast by a greased-up muscle man the size of a healthy young bantha. He wears a cheap replica of Ren’s mask and cowl and nothing more, except what must be two liters of baby oil slathered on his abs.

The size of his dick, too, is frankly ludicrous. This is exactly why Hux has no interest in flashy modern holos. There’s simply no realism to be had. Huxxx, though, moans around the monstrosity as if it were ice cream. Lord Ten Inches pets his hair backwards with his clumsy paw. “That’s right, baby,” he rumbles in a gravelly imitation of Ren’s voice modulator, “Take it.”

Hux feels he’s seen enough to get the picture and stops the holovid there with a great roll of his eyes. Though, if he’s being honest, he’s not surprised to see himself cast in a dingy spunkvid parody of life on Starkiller Base. As a young general he expects to attract a certain amount of admiration. Power is seductive, of course, and redheads rare. In the past he’s had secret admirers deliver gifts of food and drink and flowers, and he knows propaganda featuring his likeness tends to cause a rise in enlistment. _Starfucker Base_ is no different, though Hux doesn’t plan on fondly watching it again the way he’ll occasionally reread that awful story confiscated from the holonet servers about the author’s trembling first date with the handsome general.

_Ah_ , he thinks, as he prepares for bed, _but poor Ren has never been admired by anyone, what with his sulks and lopsided face. This is his first go ‘round with adoration, and it must’ve turned his head_ . Hux examines himself in the ‘fresher mirror with a smirk. He tsks aloud, pouting his lips in the mirror, _Poor Ren. Lord Ten Inches isn’t even top billed. Huxxx is the star of the show_ . He lays down in bed, still grinning at Ren’s naiveté. _And Hux is the star of_ this _show_ , he thinks, and orders the lights off.

  


Two hours later he orders the lights on. He hasn’t slept. There’s something wrong with this picture, he thinks. Something is off. He’s considered the facts—Kylo Ren is addicted to watching a holovid. It’s affecting his performance of—well, Hux assumes it’s affecting his performance of whatever it is exactly that he does, and it’s certainly affecting his attendance at staff meetings, not to mention his treatment of the crew. And in this holovid—

Hux orders the awful thing on again, resuming where he’d left off.

He watches, narrow-eyed, as Lord Ten Inches bends General Huxxx over a desk, stuffing the entirety of that unlikely dick into Huxxx’s even unlikelier ass. Huxxx moans loudly at the camera while the desk beneath him threatens to crack in half. _Thank god our desks are sturdier than this back lot dumpster set piece_ , Hux thinks, remembering a recent argument—unimportant but recent—during which Ren had shoved Hux backward onto his own desk like the brute he was. Hux had hit the surface so hard he’d actually slid, catching himself with his hands at the last moment from toppling over the other side. None of this violence, of course, dissuaded Ren from rethinking his tactics—he’d instead stepped close between Hux’s legs to loom over him, one hand braced on the desk by Hux’s lap.

“Next time I won’t be so gentle,” he’d menaced with a dark crackle, and might as well have left Hux’s quarters in a cloud of black smoke for all his damned aesthetic _drama_.

Blinking back to the present, Hux realizes he’s somewhat hard—no doubt a symptom of the terrible amount of noise the co-stars are generating as Huxxx is vigorously skewered. Lord Ten flips him onto his back easy as flapcake, the desk creaking in warning beneath them.

“Kriffing hell,” Huxxx moans, back arching in an appeal for mercy from the recorder-droid or perhaps the viewing audience at large, “Your cock is as big as a rancor’s!”

“Yeah, take it,” Lord Ten growls, “Take it up your tight little ass.”

Hux finds to his horror that his erection will not be ignored and resigns to a wank session—but not with this trite playing on in the background. He turns the holovid off just as Lord Ten Inches has intertwined his fingers with Huxxx’s, grumbling inaudibly into the twink’s bright red ear.

In the comfort of his bed, with his regulation lubricant, he drums up his regulation fantasy—to be fucked by a clean cut, athletic young man who keeps the chatter to a minimum. Except that today the young man simply _won’t stop talking_.

“That’s right, baby,” the man says in his mind, “Take it,” and Hux winces in disapproval but keeps stroking himself.

“Tightest ass in the galaxy,” the man says. Hux grimaces but soldiers on, speeding up.

“Next time I won’t be so gentle,” he says, and Hux comes on his hand with a gasp, and feels so sated after that he’s asleep within the minute, having failed to even clean himself up.

 

He wakes, an hour later, in terror. _Huxxx_ , he thinks, _It's_ Huxxx _._ _Ren is watching Huxxx._

Hux plays the holovid again from the start as he cleans himself up from earlier with a washrag from the ‘fresher. Suddenly every tilt of the twink’s head, lick of his plush pink lips, and wiggle of his fine freckled ass feels like a personal insult. Suddenly it doesn’t feel as if Starfucker is another harmless tribute to Hux’s good looks but an intentional attack meant to make a laughingstock of the general, to bring him down from his rightful place atop the hierarchy, atop the pedestal, and smear him with come and lube and spit until even someone as base and monstrous as Ren sits up and thinks himself worthy. With righteous indignation licking like a hot flame in his belly, he throws the washrag on the floor and prepares for _research_.

The First Order does not ban pornography. In fact, it tacitly encourages it. While there is no official approved list of vendors and holofilms, a lusty lieutenant in search of some visual aid will nevertheless find their search results tailored to selections that promote wholesome attitudes towards sex, such as on-camera application of prophylactics, tasteful music, and, it goes without saying, absolutely _no_ xeno whatsoever.

Hux himself is an aficionado of the Band of Thebes, a studio that caters to both his sexual tastes and historical interests. His favorite of their selection features two unnamed Imperial officers having a friendly and mutually arousing wrestling match before retiring to a bedroom for a round of respectable and _respectful_ coitus. Whatever degenerate studio produced _Starfucker Base_ clearly does not share the same values. Slander! Identity theft! _Production values!_ It’s enough to make Hux heave. But he will swallow whatever comes up in the name of getting to the bottom of this _bottom_.

When next Hux logs onto the Holonet, he encrypts and safeguards his access. Nonetheless, he finds he can’t make himself type “Huxxx Starfucker Base” into Bluebook, even in incognito mode. He grimaces and pulls up a different, less popular search engine.

Given the unusual—and _incorrect_ —spelling of his name, Hux is unsurprised to find that the first page of his search results are all for the right Huxxx. The first link promises “THE HOLONET HOME OF AJAXXX HUXXX.”

Clicking on it fills his office with the now tragically familiar sounds of Huxxx moaning like a wampa in heat. Hux startles and nearly drops his datapad before remembering that he can just _mute_ the infernal device. The sound immediately cuts out, but his heart is still pounding at the idea of someone having potentially _overheard_.

Hux sets the datapad down deliberately on his desk and takes a deep breath to center himself. Even if someone had, he reassures himself, this is for the good of the First Order. He has to find out _why_ this… _Ajaxxx Huxxx_ thinks he can get away with such vulgar and specific libel. Hux props his datapad up on the stand built into his desk, and steels himself for what he may find.

The splash page features an immense image of Ajaxxx Huxxx in repose, abs lit to their best advantage by a raging fire at his feet. _No wonder Ren likes him_ , Hux thinks. They both share an obvious disregard for basic safety protocol.

Scrolling further down reveals the aurally offending holovid—a looping clip of Huxxx getting enthusiastically speared on several different models’ remarkably similar oversized cocks, their faces out of frame. Hux pauses it, leaving Huxxx’s mouth caught open in a wide “o”, presumably in the middle of an absurd, overdramatic moan. He clicks his tongue in disapproval and moves on.

The about page is utterly useless—it’s just a collection of quotes about Huxxx’s skills as a performer, accompanied by a twee survey listing his star sign, his favorite food, and his length, all of which are obvious fibs. The gallery page is only slightly less useless. Hux navigates methodically through each image, scanning them for clues, but all he discovers is a nagging suspicion that Huxxx might _not_ be a natural redhead and a distinct stirring in his trousers. Hux presses his thighs together to discourage it. And the link to the blog doesn’t even _work_.

But there _is_ a link to Huxxx’s Hologram profile, which extols Hux to “Synergize With People Like You” and sign up for Hologram as soon as he clicks on it. Hux scoffs and rolls his eyes.

Most of the photos on Huxxx’s Hologram page promote Huxxx’s new holovids or his monthly live cam shows with, respectively, shots of Huxxx and his co-star embracing, even kissing, or shots featuring Huxxx cheekily showing off his small but pert ass in a remarkably extensive and creative selection of ever-shrinking underwear. Per what Hux assumes must be Hologram’s terms of use, there’s no explicit imagery, but Huxxx pushes the boundary here and there, pants dipping low enough to flash what Hux has concluded must be a red-gold merkin. Hux bites down on his lower lip as he feels his trapped cock throb. It’s only natural, he reminds himself. Huxxx is a professional.

A professional _identity thief_.

Sprinkled throughout this bawdy terrain, however, are more candid photos, their captions all signed with a jaunty “-AJ xoxo”: Huxxx visiting galactic landmarks, making a spectacle of himself at industry events with other models, and making excited faces over exotic dishes that make Hux’s stomach churn just by looking at them.

None of them are self-taken, and Hux finds himself wondering if the person on the other side of the camera is Huxxx’s significant other.

Hux experiences a strange and sudden pang in his chest. He taps the flat of his hand against his clavicle to help release what must be trapped air, but he doesn’t burp anything up. Odd. Hux shakes his head and, looking back at the datapad, smirks in the glow of its screen. He’s hit gold.

The promotional photo for _Starfucker Base_ (or, as Huxxx has “cunningly” censored it, _Starf!cker Base_ ) is easy to spot. Huxxx is wearing his terrible copy of a First Order General’s uniform. Or most of it, at least, muscular chest and defined abs exposed as he contorts himself against a bulkhead, overdramatically arching his back and thrusting his pink nipples at the viewer as if offering them up.

Hux absent-mindedly presses the heel of his hand against the little soft layer of his stomach, letting his fingers curve and rest against his abdomen.

The next photo is, as Hux had hoped, a candid from the set of _Starfucker Base_ . It features Huxxx and the oversized model who played Lord Ten Inches—whose name completely escapes Hux’s memory—playfully mugging for the camera while Lord Ten Inches’ hand is up Huxxx’s shirt. _Producing ain’t easy, but it’s a living! Haha, but seriously, tho, I’m so proud to be producing Starf!cker Base. I think some of you guys will really enjoy it! ;) -AJ xoxo_

_Producing_ ? Hux mouths at the screen. Huxxx hardly strikes him as the kind of man to have that in him. True, Hux hardly knows the ins and outs of the adult entertainment industry, but Huxxx seems too young, fresh-faced, and _lithe_ to be taking on both the physically taxing starring role of _Starfucker Base_ and such a hands-on production credit. Hux squints and reexamines the pixelated face on the screen. Huxxx is more ambitious than Hux initially gave him credit for.

Which only serves to make him more dangerous.

Hux quickly parses through the preceding photos to the project previous. To his surprise, there’s a discrepancy of about eight months between the two. Hologram's reverse chronological order is _deeply_ frustrating—it seems expressly designed to make its content vanish into the ether, Hux thinks sourly—but he grits his teeth and pushes through.

The first dozen or so photos are standard Huxxx candids—food, travel, networking, the occasional thumb tugging at the waistband of a pair of underwear that's mostly made out of straps and threatening to reveal even more of Huxxx's shapely posterior than Hologram is strictly comfortable with. Hux glances away from his screen to glare at a dark, neutral patch of his wall as he crosses his legs and presses his lips together to chew on his lower lip.

His mounting, normal, and _completely involuntary_ arousal is cooled somewhat upon reaching a photo of Huxxx in a remarkably modest outfit with his arm around a smaller, older woman, her thin arm outstretched towards the lens—it's a _selfie_ , Hux realizes with significant distaste.

_My Auntie Anat has been with me through thick and thin and now it’s time for me to do the same for her. I’m going on hiatus to take care of her. I’ll be on and off social media for the next few months, but don’t worry, I’ll be back! See you later - AJ xoxo_

Taking care of Auntie Anat seems to involve a great deal more of the same for Huxxx, sans actual work—there’s a flurry of photos of comfort food, local landmarks, and, of course, his own physique. Whatever Auntie Anat is feeding him, though, it’s added a softness to his strength that, to Hux’s surprise, appeals to him. It reminds him of something, or maybe someone, but he can’t quite put his finger on what or who.

The last photo during this little hiatus finds Huxxx, in utilitarian but still scanty hiking gear, on top of a ruin, lifting his arms in triumph.

_ALL CLEAR!!! Auntie Anat has pulled through. I couldn’t have been there for her without you all being there for me. I’m so thankful for your love and support in this difficult time. I’ll be back home soon with something I think some of you will like—see you then! - AJ xoxo #blessed #yavin4_

Hux squints his eyes at the photo for a moment, as if it will somehow manifest malicious intent of identity theft, before sinking back into his chair with a disappointed sigh. He had been hoping for something more _incriminating_ , but this all seems more or less above board.

There’s only so much of Huxxx he can take at the moment without _consequences_ like the one currently bedeviling the crotch of his trousers, but Hux chances going back to Huxxx’s Holonet site to check his filmography one last time.

Most of Huxxx’s holovids feature tired old scenarios, like a delivery boy getting a tip bigger than he expected or a student seducing a teacher barely older than him. _Starfucker Base_ , along with being the first holovid Huxxx has had an executive hand in, appears to be the first grotesque “parody” of its kind in Huxxx’s ouevre.

Hux presses his lips together and furrows his brow, frustrated.  There's clearly a pattern here, something he's missing, but his erection—his _stupid_ , throbbing erection—can no longer be ignored. Hux scowls down at the bulge ruining the clean line of his trousers. He's not going to sink so low as to gratify himself in his personal office.

He’s going to go to do it in the refresher _adjoining_ his personal office, as befits a man of his rank.

After gaining the ‘fresher, he can't decide whether to do it in the shower proper or over the sink. But the idea of coming over the sink, his reflection in the mirror hovering at the edge of his vision as if watching him, is too filthy for him to bear. He steps into the shower, sticking to the very edge so as not to trigger the flow of water. He feels faintly ridiculous, still in his boots and full dress uniform in the small space of his shower, but his arousal is dulling his reason.

_Involuntary_ , he reminds himself, closing his eyes as he tugs his stiff cock out of his trousers. _Totally natural_. In one way, and one way only, he and Huxxx are similar: they are both very good at their jobs.

Hux runs the heel of his right hand up the side of his shaft, but that’s all the teasing he can bear before he spits in his hand and starts stroking himself in firm, familiar strokes. Images of Huxxx float before his closed eyes like afterburn. No wonder Ren likes him, Hux thinks again, and he wonders if Ren masturbates _while_ he watches the videos. Hux has always watched his own selections to completion, out of respect for the performers, before touching himself in the dark. Given Ren’s deviant taste in pornography, he must—panting as he imagines himself in the place of Lord Ten Inches, enjoying how his frankly grotesque equipment tugs and pulls at Huxxx’s red, stretched rim as he fucks into him at a bruising pace.

Hux's hand speeds up. He grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. _One hand’s probably not enough for someone like Ren_ , Hux thinks. He probably touches himself elsewhere, the _pervert_ , maybe pinching at the nipples adorning his overlarge pectorals as he grunts like an animal. Or—Hux flushes at the obscene thought—maybe Ren lets his other hand slide further down to—

Hux comes with a noise like a wounded animal, grimacing and hissing as he empties his load into his hand. When he catches his breath and looks down, his come-covered hand, harshly lit by the industrial lighting of his refresher, strikes him as impossibly obscene. Huxxx had done something like this, Hux thinks foggily, either in _Starfucker Base_ or in a preview clip for another holovid. He’d come into his hand too—except he’d then proceeded to eat it off his fingers noisily as if it were cream.

Normally, orgasms clear Hux’s head, sober him up, put him to sleep, but he still feels distracted and decidedly odd. There’s something disorienting about being driven to masturbate by a man trying to steal his identity.

But had he really? Hux holds his hand out, tilting it as a few drops of his come splashes onto the hard tile of his shower’s floor. He hadn’t. He hadn’t been thinking about Huxxx at all when he’d felt the sharp, violent hook of his orgasm at the base of his cock. He’d been thinking about—

Hux yelps as the sonic shower turns on, activated by the motion of his hands. He scrambles out of the shower, spit-wet prick still hanging out of his trousers, and immediately barks his shin on the sink’s angular pedestal.

He glares at himself in the mirror for a moment as the pain and adrenaline subside, as his heartbeat slows. He looks _ridiculous_ —blotchy, flushed, obscene. If Huxxx can drive _him_ to something like this, no wonder a less disciplined man like Ren is completely in his thrall.

Clearing his throat, Hux tucks himself back into his underwear and trousers with his dry hand, and then washes his hands thoroughly, trying not to look at his come as it dissolves in the thin trickle of water from the sink. _In his thrall_ , Hux muses again, and then stops in his tracks as if struck by Force lightning.

Without Huxxx’s nefarious, arousing influence, the pattern falls into place with an audible click of Hux’s tongue.

_#yavin4_

Huxxx spent eight months on Yavin 4, supposedly tending to his sick aunt. But why would he go? A medical droid would have been a much more economical and more effective than going in person, especially if he was bringing along his… _helpmeet_.

In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more Hux finds that he’s doubting Auntie Anat’s very existence. Judging by the number of likes and comments on his Hologram page, Huxxx is a very popular man. This photo of “Auntie Anat” and her attentive “nephew” could easily be a fan’s photo of herself with her erotic idol that Huxxx stole to pass off as an ailing family member to construct an alibi.

_How sickening_ , Hux thinks, as he wipes his hands dry of his own come.

And it’s not as if Yavin 4 is of particular interest to travelers, beyond its connections with the origins of the New Republic. Of the Rebel bases, it had the most significant and extensive infrastructure, having even served as a temporary home for the corrupt Rebel government for a time. But perhaps operations never ceased. Senator Organa is not known to be a wasteful woman. What if the Resistance still operates out of the old base?

And most damningly, Huxxx’s pornographic oeuvre does not cater to tastes either military or parodic. From Hux’s brief glance through his filmography, their only unifying theme is the assumption that redheads are sexually insatiable. Why would _Starfucker Base_ , the only holoporn that Huxxx himself _produced_ , be so pointed a parody?

A chill runs through Hux’s body. The truth is staring him in the face as plainly as his own in the mirror, and the idea of bringing a libel suit against Huxxx suddenly seems insignificant, even petty, in the face of it.

Huxxx was obviously recruited by the Resistance while on Yavin 4 to sexually ensnare a target in the First Order in order to get information. And his target is the one man in the First Order susceptible to such wiles.

Kylo Ren.

 

Hux spends the next day in internal turmoil. It, of course, does not affect his work one whit, although Mitaka nervously asks him if he’s made any progress. “I have no idea what you mean, Lieutenant,” he responds airily, before turning his attention to Captain Phasma’s report on the graduating stormtrooper class.

The last slot on his day’s agenda is unexpectedly free, the meeting with the visiting Admiral delayed due to a Resistance attack on a nearby mining facility. Normally, such late cancellations frustrate Hux, upsetting his carefully scheduled day, but he feels no such frustration today. With Ren off doing… whatever it is he does all day, it’s the perfect time to look into Ren’s HoloNet history.

A sense of guilt, motivated by propriety, overwhelms him momentarily, but he shakes it off easily. Ren’s being ensnared by that faux ginger siren is both a legitimate security concern and a sensitive one—it would be impossible to share this matter with even the most trusted members of his staff. It, therefore, falls to him to investigate and resolve this issue in a timely and efficient manner, and if that means doing so on the clock, so be it.

If he’d known that the meeting would be cancelled before retiring to his personal office, he would have gone to the effort of confiscating Ren’s datapad to check the device for any seditious correspondence from that _coquet_ , but he hopes that Ren’s HoloNet search history will be sufficiently damning.

As soon as Hux pulls up Ren’s HoloNet file, he realizes that he needn’t have worried. Ren’s HoloNet search history is laughably complete. The man seems to have never heard of the words “propriety,” “discretion” or “incognito”. For a moment, Hux just _stares_ at the uninterrupted wealth of information, before parsing it down. He types in a few search terms to eliminate Ren’s interests in Sith history, Imperial conspiracy theories, and pod racing (how _backwards_ , Hux sniffs, thinking of the far superior sport of phaseball), which leaves only the pertinent data.

Huxxx seems to be a relatively recent addition to Ren’s pornographic rotation. Huxxx only came to Ren’s attention with a holoporn where Huxxx played a socialite who pays for his own ransom with his body, after a little “convincing” by the strapping and, in Hux’s opinion, overly hung bounty hunter who kidnapped him. It’s not something Hux recognizes from Huxxx’s website—it appears exclusive to this particular studio—so he allows himself to watch the thirty second preview. The moment he hears Huxxx whine in a Coruscanti accent even worse than the one he assigned Hux, he turns it off, trapping Huxxx’s mouth on the bounty hunter’s straining, fat cock.

But before _Sugar Baby Goes South_ , it appears that Ren had no favorite model or studio, sticking to the free holosites without ever registering an account on any of them. But both the searches and selections seem to largely center on the theme of redheads. One video, accessed over one hundred times, features a soft-bellied amateur model, head modestly cropped out of frame, jerking himself off unhurriedly while the camera enjoys a long, lingering look at the copper curls of his pubic hair.

Hux crosses his legs as if to protect his own trimmed copper curls from prying eyes, despite being in full uniform.

But Huxxx seems to have triggered a sea change in Ren’s pornographic habits. After watching the preview for _Sugar Baby Goes South_ a dozen times, it looks like Ren bit the blaster bolt and forked over the credits to download the entire thing. If Hux had access to his datapad, he could divine the exact moment Ren generally stops the holovid—

Hux shakes his head. That would be unnecessary. _Educational_ , to be sure, but unnecessary.

That payment led to a subscription to Skywanker Productions, the studio Huxxx worked with before his hiatus. That subscription brought with it access to over a dozen smaller studios, but Ren seems to have ignored them entirely in favor of following Huxxx as devoutly as he follows the Supreme Leader, watching his scenes so many times that there doesn’t seem to be a clear favorite in whatever passes for his heart.

_No wonder the Resistance knew who to go to to get to Ren_ , Hux thinks grimly. The Jedi, he remembers vaguely, taught against attachment of any kind; perhaps Ren should’ve taken a tip or two from them.

Eventually, Ren’s browser history shows that he abandoned Skywanker Productions for Huxxx’s personal holosite, although he maintained the subscription in order to view his work. The search results here are less luridly titled, but Hux’s eyes catch on a result entitled “NEW BLOG!!!” and clicks on the cached version of the page.

It seems Huxxx’s blog had been functional at some point before his hasty hiatus; this cached version is fully functional. The post is narcissistic nonsense, Huxxx nattering on about something called a “gain” and showing off his shapely rear in more detail than Hologram allows, before ending with a notice extolling Huxxx’s fans to join him in a fortnight’s time for a live cam show.

Ren’s browser history indicates that he was present.

The thought of Ren and Huxxx making contact outside of the one-sided relationship of creator and consumer makes Hux’s blood run cold. He’d thought that _Starfucker Base_ was the first volley in the war over Ren’s loyalties; now, it seems it may have been the last.

The post indicates that the cam shows are a regular feature for those who pay a premium, which Ren, obviously, does. He’ll have to review Ren’s expense reports to see where he’s been squirreling these payments away, Hux thinks, before remembering that Ren never actually _submits_ his expense reports.

With a sense of dread still heavy in his chest, Hux checks Huxxx’s Hologram feed. At the top of his “stream,” there’s a photo that wasn’t there last night—Huxxx making a tauntaun face and flashing a peace sign while holding a hand drawn sign in Aurebesh that declares, “CAM SHOW TONIGHT!”

_Don’t forget that my monthly live cam show is 2nite!_ (Hux pauses to roll his eyes elaborately at the use of shorthand.) _Regular subscribers get to join the group chat, but premium subscribers get a little one on one time ;) - AJ xoxo_

Ren must be a premium subscriber, Hux thinks, all the blood draining from his face. He’s going to make contact with Huxxx tonight, no doubt ready to spill what secrets he has clearance for in exchange for Huxxx touching himself while muttering sweet nonsense to Ren. To big, gullible, _daft_ Ren.

The First Order’s best practices for intelligence gathering dictates that Hux should be patient. He should go ahead and let Ren contact Huxxx tonight and clone his datapad tomorrow in order to to gather the incriminating evidence, so that he can provide a dossier to move forward with a charge of treason against Ren. At the very least, he’ll have enough information to finger Huxxx as a clear member of the Resistance and release his hold on Ren’s sexual imagination.

But _Starfucker Base_ has hit too close to home for Hux to ignore. What if Ren tells Huxxx incriminating information about the actual Starkiller Base that could result in a Resistance advantage, just for a look at that hairless anus? Hux mistakes a thick thrill of arousal for another chill of fear.

Hux sets his mouth in a grimmer line than usual. Tonight, there will be no rest for the General. Tonight, he will have to keep vigil over Ren’s security feed, for the benefit and safety of the First Order.

 

He lies in wait like a sarlacc, sitting on his bed in the dark with Ren’s feed pulled up on one datapad and Huxxx’s site on another. He has a kind of sinking, swirling feeling in his stomach he associates with matters of deepest security, and is prepared at any moment to hear his own fearsome and menacing co-commander spill military secrets to a villainous little twink just because he is sad and lonely and depraved.

He’s brought his bottle of chartreuse into bed with him, taking slow sips from a shotglass to calm his nerves. His main concern, of course, is detection by Ren during this night's espionage. But, sucking in a breath as the feed shows Ren settling into a chair in his sweats and poking at his datapad with an overlarge finger, Hux realizes with stomach-sinking certainty that Ren will be too distracted to care.

Nothing in his life of respectful and _respectable_ sexual encounters could prepare him for the filthy sensation of watching Ren watching Huxxx, no matter how he assures himself he is acting selflessly to ensure the bright future of his forces and beloved base. The moment the show starts, with Huxxx winking saucily before pulling his too-tight black shirt up his chest to display pierced nipples, Hux finds himself in desperate need of a shot. Then another once he rips his unwilling eyes away to look at Ren. He forgoes the glass in favor of the bottle once Ren starts wanking—unprepared emotionally for the sight of Ren’s dick, which he cannot visually comprehend at first, thinking Ren has stolen a whole loaf of cured meat from the kitchens. When he at last accepts what he’s looking at, his own erection flags as if bowing to the superior specimen. Hux has to admit to himself, dizzily, that Lord Ten Inches was perfectly cast in the role.

He fights a sudden, rising sensation of inadequacy by reminding himself with a fierce swig of chartreuse and twist of his lips that they are—all three of them, Huxxx, Lord Ten, and Ren himself—freaks and sexual deviants, and he alone is pure. He is merely Ren’s secret chaperone in this bizarre and twisted underworld. He’s here to calculate exactly how much treason to charge Ren with, not to judge himself based on these entirely impractical and unhealthy standards. Honestly, Ren’s dick looks like a _whole_ _thing_ of salami.  

Hux pulls the blanket up over his head like a hooded robe, an old Academy habit to block the light from his roommates, and watches the proceedings, wide-eyed. The tension of waiting for Ren to start a private conversation with Huxxx only grows the longer Hux is forced to witness Ren’s unhurried masturbation, and so Hux drinks through it, losing track of time. At one point Ren says, “Yeah,” and Hux startles, the blanket falling from his head, but Ren seems only to be responding to Huxxx touching his own modest erection where it strains against the comically tiny briefs he wears.

Hux wonders, then shies away from the thought—taking a swig and replacing the blanket over his head before creeping back up to it—he wonders how much Huxxx understands about his mission. If he specifically wants to humiliate Ren, to make a laughingstock of Vader’s legacy, to deliver the final blow to his volatile psyche, or if he just gets off having someone so powerful eating from his hand. Ren looks ready to eat from his hand, anyway, lifting his head when the camera angle dips lower as if to control the recorder-droid himself, practically slobbering. It’s pathetic. No one acts like this, Hux thinks. Nobody’s eyes go soft and glassy at the sight of Hux, anyway, and he’s never obsessed over anyone the way Ren so shamelessly throws his dignity at Huxxx’s feet. Hux hiccups, feeling a bit sick.

Suddenly, Ren pokes at the screen of his datapad in a clumsy, left-handed rush. Hux sits up, stomach dropping—this is the moment he’s waited for. He leans in close, the better to hear the specifics of Ren’s treason drawn out by Huxxx’s natural Yavinese lilt, but hears instead, in whining faux Coruscanti, “But Lord Ten Inches, I couldn’t fit all that into my mouth!”

“If you can’t take it in your mouth,” Lord Ten growls, “you’re going to take it in your tight little hole.”

Past the heat rushing to his own cock Hux realizes Ren is working himself at a feverish pace now to _Starfucker Base_ , his chair shaking with the roughness of his tugging. Then, just as quickly, Ren groans and takes his hand off his dick—head tilted toward the ceiling. Thinking himself spotted through the feed, Hux hides his face, ridiculously, in the blanket, until he peeks and sees that Ren’s eyes are squeezed tight, and his teeth gritted. He hasn’t sensed Hux, and he hasn't come, either.  

After wrestling down his ferocious expression into a calm, blank mask, Ren stands and shucks his loose fitting pants in favor of pulling on the tights he wears for workouts, all while Hux watches, rapt, getting a brief but memorable view of Ren’s muscular ass. With wincing difficulty, Ren tucks his erection into his waistband, grabs his saber, and leaves his quarters. Hux has to scramble to follow his movements on the feeds. The chartreuse bottle tips dangerously where he’s sat it in the center of his crossed legs, while Huxxx’s cam show plays on forgotten in the sheets. _What in kriff’s_ —

Ren storms down the corridors to the officer’s gym, abandoned at this hour, where he promptly ignites his saber and begins to run his usual drills, except tonight his movements are accompanied by vicious, fierce, and unintelligible shouting that Hux can only assume comes from Ren leaving himself on the very brink of orgasm with his dick trapped in a tight waistband.   

Before he is aware of doing it, Hux has shrugged his greatcoat on over his pajamas, and is weaving down the empty halls toward the gym with the bottle hidden under his arm. Unobserved, the sound of his approach drowned out by Ren’s unseemly roaring, he settles himself down in his usual seat on the observation deck to keep an eye on his ward—Ren could still make contact with Huxxx, perhaps this is some kind of bizarre pre-date ritual he’s established to work out his nerves. Out on the training floor he is neither graceful nor disciplined, just wild and vicious and powerful and awful.

It’s awful. The night has been awful. The week has been awful. _Ren_ is awful, from his scruffy head to his giant feet. No wonder the poor man has to console himself with pornography and dote on a little whore. Hux sits up from his slouch to get a better view of Ren as he spars alone—the sweat on his scarred, bare back, massive thighs straining the fabric of his workout tights so that the First Order insignia on the side is all but unrecognizable. _Yes, all of that right there_ , Hux thinks, discreetly covering his mouth in time for a hiccup, _awful_.  

 

“General?”

“Mmr.”

“Hux,” a hand on his shoulder startles Hux awake, and in his panic he tips the bottle from the armrest. Ren catches it, then reads the label as Hux rubs his eyes. “Chartreuse?” Ren asks, “What's that?”

“Mm, you wouldn’t know it. You don’t know _anything_ ,” Hux sneers. He struggles out of his greatcoat and drapes it over himself like a blanket, intending to go back to sleep. Why Ren is crouched beside him in his bedroom, he does not care.

“It matches your eyes,” Ren says, holding the bottle up to the light.

“I’m vain,” Hux mumbles. “Get out of my room.”

“We’re not in your room,” Ren says, and when Hux opens a bleary eye to glare at him, Ren lips twitch, “Were you watching me work out?”

“No, I was sleeping.”

“What about before that?” Ren asks.

Hux remembers, a bit foggily, the crackling red blade, and before that—Huxxx. He glares at Ren with both eyes, now. “None of your business, Ren.”

Ren seems to be trying not to laugh. In fact, he looks happier than Hux has ever seen him. He must be riding the high of Huxxx’s cam show, Hux thinks, bitterly.

“Come on,” Ren says, “I’ll walk you back to your quarters.”

“No,” Hux says.

“You’ll thank me when your officers don’t find you here,” Ren says.

“I would _never_ thank you,” Hux says, but gathers up his coat anyway, standing unsteadily. Ren stays close, one arm held out as if to catch him.

“You’re alright?” Ren asks. “Don’t forget your bottle,” and hands him the chartreuse as if it were Hux’s favorite stuffed toy.  

Hux nods regally, tipping slightly to the side as he takes the bottle. “You may proceed.”

Their progress down the corridor seems especially slow. Hux blames Ren, who keeps trying to take him by the elbow or guide him with a hand on his back. “Get off,” Hux says, the next time he feels Ren’s hand wrap around his waist, and pushes him. Ren raises up his hands to show his innocence and lets Hux walk on his own after that, except to take his greatcoat away after Hux stops in the hallway to set down his bottle and try to sort out which way is up.

Ren folds the coat over his arm and picks up the chartreuse, too, offering Hux his other elbow. Hux thinks about it, glances around the halls, then wraps his hand around Ren’s bicep (or as far as it will go, anyway) and lets him lead. It’s much easier this way. He might be a bit too sleepy to walk straight, and cold without his greatcoat. He presses close to Ren, who must be cold, too, in his workout gear, because he presses back.

“We could go to the observation deck,” Ren says.

“Why would we do that?”

“I thought—” Ren says, “we could—” and then he doesn’t say anything more, frowning.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Hux says, and they come to a stop outside the door to Hux’s quarters, “You’re under my suspicion,” he says, poking Ren’s chest, “I suspect you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Hux says.

For a long moment they stare each other down, though Ren isn’t doing it right. His gaze keeps dropping lower, to Hux’s lips, “Maybe you’re right,” he says.

“I know I’m right,” Hux says.

“Open the door,” Ren says, the dark determination in his eyes making it seem like a threat, “I’ll tuck you in.” He leans in so close that Hux barely has room between him and the door to smash his thumb into the reader to let himself in, then hold Ren back with a hand on his chest.

“I can tuck myself in, Ren, I’m not a child,” Hux tugs his greatcoat and nearly empty bottle from Ren’s hands.

“I didn’t say you were,” Ren says, smirking.

Hux shuts the door on him without another word. “Stupid Ren,” he says, stumbling toward his bed.

  


“Sir?” Mitaka’s voice comes buzzing through the door panel—tinny and nervous and lacking the raw authority of Ren’s growl—no, Lord Ten’s growl. Lord Ten’s growl, obviously. Ren’s performance the night before had only served to make Hux certain he was up to something, and Hux wouldn’t soon forget the look in Ren’s eyes as he had Hux pinned to the door of his quarters. It was the look of a man desperate for confidential information.

Hux ignores Mitaka, eyes flitting between _Starfucker Base_ and the security feed of Ren’s quarters. He’s synced the holovid up with Ren’s, all the better to spy. Ren is watching an early scene in the holovid, with Huxxx spread out in the locker room between half a dozen stormtroopers, lapping at whatever cock comes closest while the others jack off onto his stomach.

_And this is the man Ren adores_ , Hux thinks, scoffing, his eyes drifting from where Huxxx’s long legs are draped over broad, armored shoulders, to the feed of Ren. His cock ( _stars_ , though, Ren’s cock, really) is in his hand but he seems frustrated by the scene, agitated, twisting in his seat with a grimace. Hux, too, is agitated. He also has his cock in his hand, because it’s hard, not because he wants to. The door panel lights again.

“Sir?” Mitaka asks, “It’s a quarter after sixteen hundred.”

Hux ignores him. What’s wrong with Ren? He’s wincing as if it hurts him to watch this scene. It’s almost as if he’s jealous of seeing Huxxx with men besides Lord Ten. His cock, too ( _stars_ ) is flagging, gone gradually limp in his hand. Hux squints back at _Starfucker Base_ , where Huxxx is kitten licking the head of a stormtrooper’s cock, looking up at the camera from under black lashes. _Some redhead_ , Hux scoffs. Then, without warning, Lord Ten Inches crashes through the door. The stormtroopers clutch at their throats unconvincingly, backing themselves against the walls. Huxxx sits up straight on his knees, wet hair slicked back, strings of come like garlands across his chest, his collarbone, his high, sharp cheek. Hux sits up, too, startled.

They don’t fuck in this scene. Hux remembers that now from his first time through. He’d never bothered to watch this part again. He’s rock hard though—at this point it’s just muscle memory—and when Lord Ten Inches reaches out to smear the come on Huxxx’s face onto his gloved thumb and press it against Huxxx’s lips, Hux makes a strange, high sound in his throat and comes, surprising himself. He watches Ren finish moments later, with a kind of sleepy, sated fondness for him and his absurdly oversized cock. Poor, pathetic Ren, trying to be sneaky. He’s far better suited for a career in spunkvids.

“Sir?”

He groans in annoyance. Mitaka. Naturally. He pulls on his sweats and smooths out his crumpled undershirt before opening the door. “What, Lieutenant?”

“Sir—I—” Mitaka’s eyes drop to Hux’s bare feet, then pull back up to his face with difficulty, “Sir, you’re late to the officer’s meeting.”

“Kriffing—” Hux runs a hand through his hair, “What time is it?”

“It’s a quarter… a quarter after…” But Mitaka doesn’t finish, peering past Hux into his dark bedroom. There’s flickering light from the holovid, which—Hux realizes too late—is still playing. Lord Ten is coaxing secrets from a handsome Resistance pilot by choking him with his dick, and now Hux remembers exactly why he hadn’t liked the shower scene. It was as if Lord Ten Inches took all the tension between himself and Huxxx and fed it to this stranger. It’s Hux’s least favorite scene, really. He hates it, to be honest. _He’s_ supposed to be the star of this holovid.

Mitaka is smart enough at least to keep his mouth closed, but his eyes grow wide at Ten’s growling trademark, “Take it,” before looking back at Hux.

“What?” Hux snaps, “It’s for _research_.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitaka says.

“Research that needs my immediate attention, Lieutenant. No further interruptions today and have the meeting rescheduled for next cycle. And get me another bottle of chartreuse. Dismissed.” He slams his palm against the door’s button and squeezes his eyes shut, _damn Mitaka_ , willing his heart to slow. No one should’ve seen him in the midst of this project—no one can be trusted. It requires the utmost secrecy, he thinks, picking at a snag of dried come on his stomach before drifting to his room to watch the holovid once more.

  


Every viewing of _Starfucker Base_ reveals a new detail, even to Hux’s strained and increasingly intoxicated eyes—the shoddy detailing of the set design in Huxxx’s “office”, an awkward minute of reblocking that should have been cut entirely, something utterly licentious Huxxx does with his tongue on the reverse shot to fluster his co-stars. But the one thing Hux can’t seem to make the holovid cough up is the reason for the depths of Ren’s devotions to Huxxx.  

Huxxx is talented and _limber_ , to be sure, but what makes him so different from any other adult performer in the galaxy who fits Ren’s specific tastes? What makes him worth _treason_ to Ren?

It’s a question he’s been asking himself again and again, over the last two hours, to absolutely no avail and probably some chafing. Hux leans over to futilely examine his second bottle of chartreuse in as many days for any last drops, wincing at how the movement shifts his oversensitive cock. He normally doesn’t masturbate this often, which is all Ren’s fault.

There’s, of course, nothing left in the bottle. Hux squeezes his eyes shut in frustration and fatigue, and that’s when the idea occurs to him.

What if he’s been asking himself the wrong question? Not what makes Huxxx different, but what makes _Ren_ different?

Well, Hux considers, settling back into his chair, there are his obvious drawbacks—oafish size, sense of entitlement, his sheltered, monastic upbringing…

Hux sits straight up as if electrocuted. What if Ren’s a _virgin_?

It seems preposterous, at first blush, to think that, given Ren’s _atrociously_ large equipment and high standing in the galaxy, but the more Hux thinks about it, the more obvious it seems. Ren _has_ to be a virgin. The fact that Ren had ignored an opportunity to converse with Huxxx in favor of masturbating to _Starfucker Base_ for what must have been the thousandth time in the last fortnight proves that fact quite readily. Ren may be alarmingly well-developed, but it makes sense that his service to Supreme Leader has left him with little time to pursue romantic or even sexual interests. Hux would never question the Supreme Leader’s judgment, but, in this area, it is possible that he perhaps did not anticipate the depth of Ren’s weakness. Huxxx may very well have been the first person to ever look at Ren kindly, let alone lustfully. And this has left Ren susceptible to tactics Hux was trained against long ago.

Hux stares off into the dark of his quarters, lit haphazardly by the glow of his screen. There’s an obvious solution to the problem at hand. Ren cannot be charged for poor taste in pornography. And Hux’s previous goal of charging Ren for treason now feels like poor sportsmanship given Ren’s _handicap_ and how ruthlessly Huxxx is exploiting it. The most efficient way of combatting Huxxx’s power over Ren would be to render it useless. If Ren would go to such lengths for what is, essentially, photo-illustrated fantasy, then the act itself would surely break the spell of that twinky _siren_.

And it might come with other benefits—perhaps Ren’s infamous tantrums might be abated if he had a healthy sexual outlet instead of his nightly devotions to a man who doesn’t actually give a damn about him.

Hux has every faith in the loyalty of his staff and crew—if he were to approach someone with this delicate mission, he knows they would carry it out faithfully. Even and perhaps especially Mitaka, who seems to suffer from some fascinated sexual terror of Ren.

Ultimately, though, the issue is not who would do it, but who would Ren accept. Redheads are rare enough in the galaxy, let alone on board the _Finalizer_ , and the only two that spring to mind are incompatibly equipped for Ren’s tastes. Which leaves… only him.

Hux’s inner thigh twitches, and he shifts his weight to accommodate the sensation.

Is it irony that Huxxx played him and that he must now play Huxxx? He’s too tired and drunk to parse the semantics, but it strikes him as vaguely hilarious, even as the memory of Ren’s big hand on his waist sends a tentative chill up his spine. Ren will be insufferably big, bigger than anyone Hux has ever taken, and, what’s worse, given the nonsense he natters alone in his quarters, he’ll be… _talkative_.

Nonetheless, the duty of relieving Ren of his virginity and saving the First Order from the machinations of the Resistance has fallen to Hux. He’s been prepared to do and has done far worse things for the glory of the First Order. Letting Ren have his way with him is far down that list, but it still makes Hux feel pleasantly apprehensive.

He’ll have to plan for the sheer logistics of the situation, Hux thinks sleepily as he gets up to crawl into his unmade bed, _Starfucker Base_ still playing on mute behind him. He’ll have to stretch himself out beforehand, and make sure he stays on top of Ren, to retain some level of control in this delicate situation… Hux’s hand finds his cock, somehow still stirring lazily despite the self-abuse it’s suffered in the course of this very important mission. He squeezes and strokes himself as his grand plan to save the First Order from Ren’s sexual inexperience begins to take shape.

  


That night Hux lets himself into Ren’s quarters, where, he knows from the security feed, Ren is wanking furiously over _Starfucker Base_ ’s final scene. He’d watched along from his own quarters, preparing himself with his favorite toy while regretting he didn’t own anything larger. Now, feeling particularly nasty and slick, he creeps from the front room to where Ren sits in his usual chair, hoping he’ll be distracted by Huxxx’s throaty moans and loud curses.

Instead, just as he approaches Ren’s open bedroom door, Ren asks, “Do you need something from me, General?”

Caught, Hux steps into the doorway, squeezing his legs together to keep the lube from dripping down, and tries to glare, “No, Ren,” he says, taking in the sight of him for a moment, flushed and hard, eyes glued to the holovid. How awful. “But,” Hux says, tilting his head, “I think there’s something you need from me.”

Ren has the nerve to look over and grin wolfishly, “Is that right?” he asks, hand never leaving his cock, which— _stars_ —really is that heinously large in person.

Hux’s ass clenches just at the sight of it, but he wills himself to stay calm and unbuttons his jacket with steady fingers, “I think he protests too much. All this pornography’s giving you unhealthy expectations.”

“Hn, let me guess—you’d be all business. Quiet as if we were in your old bunk at the Academy, biting your fist, pretending you didn’t love it.”

Hux only shrugs, draping his jacket over a chair as Ren watches, eyes half closed, hand stroking himself slower, now, but not—Hux notices with a shot of excitement—sparing a glance at the holovid. Cheered, Hux snaps, “Take your hand off your dick,” and Ren does so at once. It lifts Hux’s mood even higher, though he had of course expected he’d do well, “I need your help with my boots,” he says, and points to the floor, “Down.”

Ren looks at him wide-eyed for a moment, mouth open in a shocked “o” to rival Huxxx’s, then he slides from the chair onto the floor. Hux steps past him to take the seat he’s just left, mindful of the crusted comestain on the armrest, “Get to work,” Hux says, and Ren, miraculously, obeys.  

“Lord Ten!” Huxxx cries, “Show me the power of your big cock.”

Ren smiles fondly to himself, unzipping Hux’s boot.

Hux pauses the holovid with a slash of his hand, then says, “Look at me, Ren.”

Ren looks up, not bothering to wipe the grin off his face, which threatens to break out into a laugh.  

“I’ll send you to kill him,” Hux says, sneering, resisting the urge to kick, “Wouldn’t that break your stupid heart.”

“Who?” Ren asks.

“Huxxx.”

Ren squints, confused, “You’re Hux.”

“No, Huxxx—” Hux says, pointing to the holo, “Ajaxxx Huxxx? That little twink you love so much?”

Ren does laugh, then, and Hux feels his face heat, “This isn’t a joke. I'll have you up on treason charges if I find out you ever spoke a word to that tart.”

“Treason?” Ren shakes his head, “What would I want with some holovid star?” He pulls off Hux’s boot and sock, then rests Hux’s bare foot on his broad shoulder, thumb stroking over his ankle, “You think I like that flimsy, little thing? I’d scare him to death.”

“Really?” Hux asks, like some besmitten schoolgirl, and then scrunches his nose at himself. Pathetic, “I mean,” Hux tries to recover, “you don’t scare me,” though his breath comes short as Ren rises up on his knees to unbutton Hux’s pants. Hux lifts his hips to help him and makes a small, horrid sound as Ren takes in his red silken shorts for a smug, hungry moment.

“I know I don't scare you,” Ren looks up, licking his lips, “But you scare me,” he says, and Hux has to look away from Ren’s eyes, feeling suddenly shy. Ren reaches up to tug his earlobe, gently, then runs his hand through Hux’s hair, just for a moment. Hux looks back to find Ren smiling. “Besides,” Ren says, running his wandering hand now over Hux’s shorts to tug at the waistband as if for a peek. Hux smacks his hand away. Undaunted, Ren lays his head on Hux’s thigh, drawing patterns through the fine, light hair there with a finger, “He’s not a real redhead, you know.”

Hux hums. Quite on its own, his hand reaches out to brush a curl from Ren’s face as he keeps up his strange patterns with a soft touch.

“Is it true your kind is insatiable?” Ren asks.

“Yes,” Hux says quickly, twisting a strand of dark hair around his finger, “Is it true you’re a virgin?”

“A virgin?” Ren’s eyebrows raise, though his smug expression doesn’t falter, “What gave you that impression?”

“Let’s see—your embarrassing behavior. Your aggression toward the staff. Your addiction to this—this spunkvid. Your infatuation with that nefarious little twink.”

“My infatuation with you doesn’t mean I’m a virgin.”

“I meant—” Hux says, then snaps his mouth shut, glaring, “Very well, Ren. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Do you want me to be?” Ren asks, blinking his wide eyes up at Hux, all innocence, “Are you here to teach me how?”

“I’m here to recondition you,” Hux says, hoping to spoil Ren’s smug mood, “following your recent contact with an undesirable outside influence,” he sits up straighter, displacing Ren’s heavy head from his thigh.

Ren sighs, “We never made contact, I told you.”

“I won’t take my chances. You’re,” he swallows, this isn’t easy to say, so he says it to the wall, “You’re too important.”

“I like that.”

“Maybe important is the wrong word. Naive. Impressionable. Sad and lonely and—”

“Enough.”

“I won’t lose you to a lesser man.”

“Better,” Ren says.

“I want to be the one holding your leash.”

“Perfect,” Ren says, “It’s yours.”

“I want proof of your loyalty,” Hux says. “Undress.”

“You first.”

“I’m not playing games, Ren,” Hux says.

Ren just stares, stubborn as a Bantha.

“Fine,” Hux huffs, feeling his chest heat, “We’ll both undress.”

“We’ll undress each other,” Ren adds.

“Okay,” Hux says.

“Okay,” Ren says.

Then neither of them moves.

“How is it you know I watched _Starfucker Base_?” Ren asks, eyebrows drawn together in feigned shock, “Have you been spying on me?”

“I’ve been gathering intelligence,” Hux says, chin up in defiance as Ren stands, casting a shadow over him.

“You take your duties so seriously, General,” Ren says, smirking down. Hux looks up into his eyes for a moment before he has to look away, pinking. Lord Ten Inches failed to capture Ren’s more ineffable powers—the effect of his strange, arrhythmic speech, his cruel sense of humor, his hypnotic stare. Ren offers him a hand, which Hux accepts, still keeping his gaze low. Ren’s hand is soft and warm and strong and Hux stands there holding it, feeling a bit like he missed the last step on a flight of stairs.

Ren doesn’t notice, though, and lets him go to work open the fastenings of Hux’s shirt. He slips it from Hux’s shoulders so delicately that Hux at last looks up to object to this treatment, as if he were flimsy as a holovid star, only to catch Ren looking a bit nervous himself, unsure what to do next as his eyes travel up Hux’s body. When he finds Hux staring back, he finds his smirk again, “You’re supposed to be undressing me, too,” he says. And Hux swallows and nods, bringing his hands to Ren’s chest before sliding down, down, to the hem of his shirt, and dragging the fabric back up.  

When the shirt clears Ren’s head he presses forward for a kiss, but Hux turns away.

“No kisses?” Ren asks, hot against his ear.

“This is business,” Hux says, eyes closed against the feeling of those fat lips on his neck, Ren’s warm skin as he trails a big hand down Hux’s chest and soft belly to rub him through his underwear.

“Oh,” Ren says, in his ear, and Hux breaks out in goosebumps, “Are you on the clock? On a tight schedule?” and coming from Ren, the words are obscene.

“No, Ren,” Hux shudders and tries to wrestle his thoughts back, glaring right into Ren’s face, “In fact, it might take all night to correct your wholly unrealistic sexual expectations of duration and of—of dirty talk and speed and volume a-and _content_ —”

“What are you talking about?” Ren asks, grinning.

“Shut up and get on the bed,” Hux snaps, flustered, “You’re having too much fun.”

“So no fun, then? Is there a precedent for this?” Ren asks, stepping out of his pants—his dick still hard and, _stars_ , enormous, “A First Order procedure? Did you consult a manual?”

“Like most of my career highlights, I’m setting a precedent as we speak,” Hux says, and kneels on the bed, settling over Ren’s knees and running his hands up Ren’s thighs.

“Career highlight?” Ren says, then gasps when Hux leans down to lick the length of Ren’s dick, up to the tip, then up again, chin drawing through his spit. It’s slow, methodical, and meant to drive Ren mad, which it does immediately, Ren’s hips pushing up for more.

Hux pulls off to scold him, “Patience.”

“Patience?” Ren asks, sounding desperate, “Why?”

Hux hums, licking Ren’s cock all over, peaked nipples rubbing against Ren’s thighs, “Because,” he says, breathless from torturing him while so hard himself, tasting his big cock and salty precome, “You’re relearning, remember?”

“Swallow it,” Ren begs, pushing up again, “I want to see you do it. Please,” he adds, when Hux purses his lips, thinking. It’s difficult to say no to the challenge, to prove Huxxx isn’t so remarkable after all, so Hux sits up a bit more on Ren’s thighs and lets Ren push up with gentle thrusts that bring tears to Hux’s eyes. He refuses to gag, breathing in through his nose as Ren’s cock slides deeper. He moans at the thought of Ren choking him in this way, the pressure of Ren’s hand pushing down unrelenting. When Hux squirms, ass rising in the heat of it all, Ren lets him go and says, “Come here. I’m gonna fuck you so you can’t walk.”

“ _Ren_ ,” Hux says, but before he can object, Ren’s pulled him up into his lap, fingers squeezing tight on his ass, slipping into his crack, “You’re wet,” Ren says, “You got your cunt soaked, thinking of this before you came here.”

Hux slaps him. He’s never heard a more absurd, offensive statement in his life and it steals his breath away. Ren catches his hand, cheek red, eyes sparkling with some heinous form of approval, and kisses the palm, “Sorry, I forgot,” he says, contrite, “I’ll be better.”

“No you won’t,” Hux says, then presses down slow, so slow onto Ren’s dick. He can't speak past the sweet pressure of it, filling himself more than ever before. When he bottoms out and opens his eyes he finds Ren staring, bottom lip between his teeth. “So,” Hux says, attempting to move, his eyes rolling back from the sensation, “Kylo Ren just wants a toy,” Ren groans, hands squeezing Hux’s ass, “He wants a dumb little pet to keep in his bed, is that right?”

“No,” Ren says, then, “Hux,” as Hux drags himself up, his eyes struggling to stay open, then Hux grinds down, and Ren says “Hux,” again, eyes squeezing shut.

“Is that a yes?” Hux asks.

“Are you offering?” Slowly, Ren sits up, keeping Hux in his lap and rolling his hips up.

“Not offering, j-just scolding,” Hux says, as Ren kisses his chest, his neck, big sweet kisses as he pushes up into Hux’s body, as slow a pace as Hux set. He hangs his head back, arms around Ren’s neck, and says, “ _Kriff_.”

Just as Ren says, “Beautiful.”

With one hand on the small of Hux’s back, the other drifts up to trace down from Hux’s ear, neck, chest, stomach, and close around his dick, “I’ve got you,” Ren says, “I won’t let go.”

This pulls a noise from Hux he should be embarrassed of, but simply isn’t. Instead he relaxes down, arching his back further as Ren sits up, until he’s kneeling and Hux’s nearly in a full backbend, legs wrapped tight around Ren’s back.

“If you could see yourself,” Ren says, and then shows him—the image of his body arching beneath Ren vivid behind Hux’s eyes—then Ren sends another, of Hux scowling in the doorway, sleeping in the gymnasium seats, wide-eyed on top of his own desk, all the while fucking him, slow and careful, until Hux’s back is flat on the mattress, crushed under Ren’s weight. “Is that healthy?” Ren asks, voice ragged, images coming faster—Hux backlit on the bridge, Hux’s profile, head bowed, standing before Snoke, Hux drinking tea in this office, Hux addressing the troops, Hux stretching in the gym, Hux passing in the hall with a quick glance Ren’s way, “Are my expectations realistic?”

Hux moans, watching Ren watch him, years of watching, and feels it too somehow: Ren permitting himself stolen glances but nothing more, Hux ripe as a strawberry with none of its sweetness, forbidden. Hux, the first time they met, young and angry and fearless with a sunburnt nose and freckles on his cheeks from shore leave.

“So I looked at some holovids,” Ren says in conclusion, “Sue me.”

“I planned to,” Hux says.

That at last earns Hux the rough treatment he feels he deserves. Ren growls and pounds into him, his grip on Hux’s thighs bruising while the bed creaks in protest.

“ _Kriff_ , Ren, fuck me,” Hux babbles, “Fuck me, _please_ ,” mouth gaping open wide as Huxxx’s before he comes, vision a white rush. Ren comes moments later, spilling inside him with a low whine.

They lay, defeated, for long minutes, with what they’ve done stretched out before them in whole like the rosy, golden nebula framed in Ren’s viewport. Its name escapes Hux. He supposes he’s been neglecting his more concrete duties on the base. But the mission was, in a way, successful. Successful enough. Ren rolls over to trap him with his weight and teasing grin, interrupting his thoughts.

“Poor Hux,” Ren whispers in his ear, so that Hux twists to escape the tickle, “you lost your mind.”

“Your fault,” Hux says.

Ren just laughs, and, suddenly, Hux laughs, too.

Ren pulls Hux back against him to spoon, his big hand curled over Hux’s belly, “So, General,” Ren says, mimicking Lord Ten’s growling impression of him, “How does it feel to be dripping with my come?”

Hux laughs again and hides his red face in the pillow, feeling Ren’s smile against his hot neck.

He squirms a bit, feeling just how it feels for himself, sticky and wet and not the least bit respectable, and Ren drags his finger up Hux’s ass to feel it too, then groans and hides his own face in the pillow.

Hux rolls over to face him but Ren’s face is covered entirely by the tangle of his hair. He sets about brushing it aside, declaring, “Oh, Lord Ten Inches,” in Huxxx’s whining Coruscanti accent when one brown eye is uncovered, and the eyebrow lifts, “I can’t live without your giant cock.” To Hux’s instant embarrassment, it doesn’t sound entirely disingenuous.

Ren pushes up on an elbow, brushing his hair back to lean in—Hux squeezing his eyes shut, preparing to be kissed, but instead Ren rubs his nose against Hux’s. It makes Hux laugh in shock, so he does it again, as slow and sweet as before.

But with that same shock Hux comes to his senses, naked beneath Ren as they rub noses like a pair of smitten woodland hares. Ren’s long eyelashes kiss his cheek, and Hux feels his heart squeeze tight, “Ren,” he says, half-panicked, “What are we doing?”

“Shhh,” Ren says, opening his sleepy brown eyes, “Take it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow us on tumblr: [Eralk Fang](http://eralkfang.tumblr.com/) & [llyn](https://nightsofllyn.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanxxx <3


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